


Once a Policeman

by Kivrin



Category: Foyle's War, Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Ficlet, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:37:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/pseuds/Kivrin
Summary: Cambridge Police Station, 1954.





	

“Are you a father?”

“Sorry?” Sidney dragged his attention away from Geordie’s closed door.

His interrogator - a sturdy, curly-headed boy of eight or so, wearing a red jumper, grass-stained gray flannel shorts, and wellies - squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “Are you a father,” he repeated, “or a mister?”

“A… oh. Oh!” Sidney put a hand to his collar. “Mister.“

The boy nodded sagely “Mm. So’s my grandfather. But the vicar at home is Father Martin. So I thought I’d ask.”

“Kit.” From the visitor’s bench further down the hall a man in a battered green trilby looked up. “Don’t bother the vicar. Anyway,” he raised a notebook, “your turn.”

“I’m not bothering,” Kit protested.

“He isn’t,” Sidney agreed, smiling at the old fellow. “I’m just waiting for Inspector Keating.” This, he concluded, must be the grandfather, though he wasn’t in clericals. He was dressed for the river in worn trousers and a pale brown corduroy-collared jacket over a windowpane-check shirt with a green and brown tie.

“You too?” The man pushed his hat back on his balding head. 

“Was there a crime in your church?” Kit’s eyes were wide. “There’s never any crime in grandfather’s church. But today we found…”

“ _Kit,”_ his grandfather repeated, as a pair of constables came along the corridor. “Come sit down and don’t tell the whole county before we’ve told the inspector.”

“I’ll sit with you, if I may. Sidney Chambers.”

“My name’s Foyle. This, as you’ll have gathered, is Kit.” He looked at the boy with fond exasperation. 

“Kit Wainwright.” The boy put out his hand.

Sidney shook it seriously, then took a spot on the bench. “Where’s your parish?”

Kit hooted, then quieted abruptly at a stern look from Mr. Foyle. 

“Not his grandfather. Common mistake. Godfather, in fact.”

“We found money! In the river!” Kit said, in a carrying whisper.

“Possibly counterfeit,” Mr. Foyle said. “Possibly part of an undergraduate… lark.” He twisted his mouth in a way that left no doubt as to his opinion of undergraduate frivolity. “Leave it to the inspector to sort out.”

“Or it could be secret agents. Or smugglers. Or…”

Geordie’s door opened, revealing the man himself, in rumpled rolled-up shirt sleeves and braces. “Detective Chief Superintendent. Sorry to keep you waiting.” 

Sidney looked down the hall for another policeman, but there was no one in sight. Mr. Foyle took off his hat and rubbed his forehead with the side of one hand. “Mister, please. Just had to explain to the desk sergeant why…” He tipped his head to the side. “Had good grounds to think someone ought to have a look. Sorry to take up your time, be quick as I can.” 

Geordie nodded. Sidney could see him shift mental gears from I’ll-pacify-the-pompous-old-goat to I-think-I-can-talk-to-you. “Come on through,” Geordie said. “Sidney, do you mind…” He nodded at Kit.

“Of course not,” Sidney answered. “Were you playing hangman?”

“But I found it!” Kit stuck out his chin. 

“Yess, and if the inspector wants to hear that story, when we’re done, he’ll fetch you.” Mr. Foyle fixed the boy with a steely gaze. “Quite clear?”

Kit subsided like a punctured tire. “Quite clear, sir,”

“Right.” Mr. Foyle nodded, picked up a soggy oilcloth packet from the floor, and stood to follow Geordie. Sidney noted as the two passed through the doorway that the older man was even shorter, though built on more solid lines. 


End file.
